


Taste

by WanderingAlice



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:35:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27153247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingAlice/pseuds/WanderingAlice
Summary: Aziraphale tries to tempt Crowley with food. Crowley is tempted in a different way.(A short, sweet, and shamelessly self-indulgent fic written for the prompt "Taste")
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 71





	Taste

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emsiecat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emsiecat/gifts).
  * Translation into Español available: [Sabor :traducción:](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27340483) by [jessevaldfond](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessevaldfond/pseuds/jessevaldfond)



> For the wonderful Emsiecat, who asked for the prompt "Taste"

“Won’t you just have a taste?”

Crowley blinks, eyes focusing on the fork held in front of his face. Aziraphale watches him, expectant, offering yet another bite of his dinner. This time it’s pasta, something in a rich cream sauce with extra cheese. His serpent’s tongue can smell it from here, overpowering the other flavors on the air. Crowley smiles but shakes his head, reaching out to push his hand away.

“Nah, you have it, angel. I’m good.” He gestures to his glass. He’s had long practice at drinking alcohol. Humans will, after all, tend to notice if you don’t drink in their presence. It’s been a long time since his sensitive tongue has been overwhelmed by wine or beer. Still, he avoids most stronger foods. The few times he’s experimented, he’s found that the more flavorful the food, the longer the flavor of it lingers in his mouth, throwing off his sense of smell. It leaves him feeling half blind, his strongest serpentine sense dulled until he can wash the taste away.

“Oh.” Aziraphale pouts at him. “Well, if you’re sure… It is quite good, you know. I think you would like it.”

“I’m sure.”

This is an old dance between them. For all that he’s the demon, it is Aziraphale that is the tempter. Oysters, that first time. Then pasta. Pizza. Warm, fresh bread. Fish, once, though his reaction to the scent had been enough to convince the angel never to try that again. Steak. Salad. Cheeses of all kinds, and potatoes in hundreds of varieties. It’s always been a game, one they both enjoy. He hasn’t yet given in, but one day he might, just to see the look on Aziraphale’s face.

He watches Aziraphale take the bite, and sigh with pleasure at the flavor. And that, well, now, _that_ expression, that little sound he makes when he truly enjoys something? That, there, is more temptation than Crowley can reasonably be expected to withstand. And, finally, in this he knows it’s alright for him to act. He grins, a predatory thing, the look in his eyes reminiscent of a serpent about to strike.

“Hey, angel? I’ve changed my mind.”

Aziraphale looks up, surprised, then frowns. “Oh, but that was the last bite…”

Crowley chuckles, leaning in. “That’s alright. I can still get a taste.”

“A taste?” Aziraphale’s eyes are confused but not unwelcoming as Crowley comes closer, so close now he can catch the angel’s scent on his tongue. Familiar, beloved. “Crowley -”

He closes the gap between them, and captures Aziraphale’s lips with his own.

“Oh!” a soft exclamation, and the parting of his lips is all the invitation Crowley needs. His mouth tastes of cream. Cheese. Parsley. Salt. Pepper. Bacon. All the strong, rich flavors of his meal. He moans into the kiss, hands coming up to hold the back of Crowley’s head, pulling him closer even as he pushes back, inhaling, drawing in Crowley’s wine-tinged breath. He buries his fingers in Crowley’s hair and the demon makes a noise that is _not_ a whimper, gripping his shoulders and all but melting against him.

Too soon, he pulls back. They are in public after all, but in his eyes there is a promise of _later_. “Delicious,” he says, licking kiss-reddened lips with the tip of a forked tongue. “You’re right. I _do_ like it.”

Aziraphale smiles, beautiful as always. “Well then,” he says, gratifyingly breathless in the aftermath of that kiss. “I suppose I’ll just have to order it again next time, won’t I?”

Crowley’s grin widens. “Suppose so. If you do, I might just have another taste.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm doing a celebration on my [writing tumblr](https://wanderingalicewrites.tumblr.com/) for hitting a follower milestone!! Feel free to head on over and suggest a prompt, and I'll write a 500-word ficlet for you!


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